Stockholm
by Cru- That Uptown Girl
Summary: "I was under the impression you had him under control."
1. Render

[ _i._ ]

Even if it was illogical to assume that a robotic alien race would have dungeons and medieval torture devices, chains and guillotines, he had expected it anyway. More logically he expected experiments; painful ones where they pumped chemicals into him and cut him open to poke his insides. He just knew they would love to toy with his body and brain to figure out what the limits of his AllSpark fragment induced eccentricities were. He expected them to film a scream filled torture session and deliver it to the Autobots; he expected them to demand the Shard or the Matrix in return for his life. Even the possibility of them trying to turn him into one of their own kind wasn't out of his spectrum of fears.

He was correct about experiments; they cut him open, pumped him with chemicals; they toyed with his organs and hooked wires all through him. But Sam felt no burning bouts of pain. He ached everywhere afterward, but that was the extent of it. Even though he remained conscious, everything was numb. He was blind to the horrors being acted on his body, face often covered with a plain cloth or, for longer procedures, a television-like visor contraption with nothing too interesting on.

No, it wasn't the candy-coated torture that ate and tore out everything from his stomach to his soul; it was the polite, lighthearted, civil conversations about baseball games and the stock market while he was under the knife.

"_Who do you think will win?"_ repeated Shockwave, while delicately cutting away some part of Sam. He couldn't feel pain, but he could certainly feel the purple menace _poke_ and _slice_ and _pull_.

"_Yankees."_ He answered.

"_Oh?"_

"_Yeah."_

Shockwave waited for his explanation, but Sam refused to grant him one.

"_The Red Sox have been doing well this year, though." _The Con says finally.

"_Yankees are better."_

"_I believe you are letting bias cloud your judgment."_

"…"

"_By how much do you think they'll win?"_

"_A point or two; maybe."_

Shockwave didn't respond in a way Sam could register it, so he just continued to stare at the canvas of white in front of his eyes.

[_ ii._ ]

"_Congratulations."_ Shockwave greeted as he prepped Sam for yet another procedure. Sam didn't find it necessary to respond, instead fighting the usual urge to struggle against the clasps binding him to the table.

"_Your prediction was correct. The Yankees won by a single point_." Shockwave's voice always surprised him. He expected all Decepticons to sound sinister and evil. Despite its constipated, robotic nature, Shockwave's voice was mellow – distantly interested in whatever he was talking about; fairly easy to listen to. Sam suspected the alien made it that way on purpose.

Sam remained silent through the surgery, instead letting Shockwave recite lengthy "fun" facts about orbital patterns or what star he expected to super-nova.

When Sam was dropped off in his cell, his dehydrated astronaut food was not there. A small container waited for him by his mattress, on top of his stack of slightly outdated NatGeo magazines. When the lid was pulled back he found a cheeseburger, hot enough to be fresh off the oven of some fast food chain restaurant. He picked it up and took it to the opposite wall, leavingit to ruin.

[ _iii._ ]

"_You did not eat your meal."_

"…_I thought you might have drugged it."_

Shockwave made a sound similar to a chuckle as he tightened the binds on Sam's wrists. The visor covered his eyes and he felt the familiar prick of the strange, awareness-non-impeding anesthesia the scientist used. A small controller was slipped under his right hand – Sam had used it before, typically whenever Shockwave's desired topic of conversation required Sam to have access to information. A large digit lightly massaged his scalp.

"_Clever boy."_

Sam didn't know how to react.

"_If you'll look through the files I have prepared, I would like to hear your speculation regarding tomorrow's stock rankings…"_

A sealed, poison-proof TV dinner and a small microwave awaited his return that night.

[ _iv._ ]

"_You were correct again."_ Shockwave congratulated as he once again placed the visor over his face. _"I believe our old routines are becoming a bit repetitive and easy for you. I have prepared a collection of questions of varying subject matter. When you are finished, we will discuss them."_

Sam wasn't particularly fond of the idea of pop quiz, but Shockwave's rare silence left him with little else to be distracted by.

The next day, Shockwave didn't set him down on the table and prep him for more of the bodily invasion. Instead the mono-optic Decepticon carried him to his office, setting him down by the keyboard and pulled up the problems and Sam's answers from the day before. Shockwave sat and calmly began his lesson.

They continued in that way for a lengthy period of time Sam couldn't quite grasp. Sam would take a test (sometimes to accompany a procedure, sometimes in his spare time), then Shockwave would bring him in to review and discuss. When it came to the point where Sam consistently made prefect scores, Shockwave presented him with another Earth-prepared meal; pasta, breadsticks, a small bowl of salad, and a soda. Though wary, Sam ate them, quietly listening as his captor began discussing basic Cybertronian anatomy.

[ _v._ ]

"_Very good._" Shockwave almost croons after Sam answered the last of his questions. They were questions about various element of the Cybertronian body lately; what wires were for what, basic programming, how certain parts worked… The mech brushed his digits across Sam's back, and presented another set.

In his cell, Sam began to mull over the recent events over a bowl of soup and a rerun of the Office on his newly found portable TV. He inadvertently thought of Mojo when chewing a piece of chicken; they'd used chicken to teach the Chihuahua tricks.

The realization Sam came to a minute later kept him hanging over the crude toilet in the corner until his dry heaves left him exhausted enough for sleep.

[ _vi._ ]

"_I'm not your pet,"_ Sam announced defiantly as the Con bent over one of the pieces of equipment the he was hooked up to. _"I'm not your pet, so you can stop giving me your treats. I'm not doing your tricks anymore."_

"_Be quiet for a moment, Samuel."_ Shockwave murmured distractedly, apparently having not noticed or simply not been bothered by his captive's outburst. _"I will give you my attention in a kilk."_ He fiddled with a knob and for a split second Sam's world went hazy. Shockwave straightened and went about his normal preparations.

"_Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?"_

"…_I don't remember…"_

[ _vii._ ]

"_Pay close attention to this trooper's fighting and defense styles."_ Shockwave had said when he presented Sam with the recordings. Sam watched carefully from his perch by the Con's keyboard, occasionally dragging his hand across the data pad to rewind or fast forward. Shockwave would point out specific details, or Sam would point out a pattern he had noticed.

[ _viii._ ]

After studying the recordings for days, Sam was led into an arena of sorts. Even through the armor Shockwave created for him, he could still feel the chill. It was dimly lit, the only source of bright light coming from the booth high above him, where the purple Con that brought him there waited patiently for his experiment to begin. A sound caught Sam's attention. Brown eyes met red optics as he stared into the face of the Con he'd seen in the recordings. The trooper yelled furiously and lunged.

Sam was surprised he knew what to do; even more so by the realization he knew how to and could do it. Shockwave's procedures often required some form of physical exertion, but he hadn't yet discovered how much stronger he was than he had been before; how much faster his reflexes were; how much more fun the idea of bringing down a robotic creature several times his own meager size seemed.

He didn't fully come back to his normal state of awareness until he found himself sitting on the chest of the dying Decepticon, toying with the swiftly fading spark in his hands.

Shockwave entered the arena behind him, approaching the boy as he clapped lightly. Sam twisted to look at his not-too-terrible-captor after the spark finally blinked out, the color scheme of the body beneath him turning to a muted, grayish imitation of its former self.

"_Clever boy."_ He acknowledged calmly, but it didn't fool Sam. That single optic _gleamed_ as a frenzied excitement and feeling of triumph practically oozed from every gap in Shockwave's frame.

Perhaps it was only the lighting, perhaps it was only the angle, but in that moment Sam found that the Con currently standing over him would not have been out of place standing over the newly breathing body of Frankenstein.

[ _ix._ ]

The process was repeated several times, each with less and less preparation prior to the match. It came to the point when Sam received no recording to study at all. He learned to study his opponent as the fight went on; he learned to find their weaknesses and exploit them. It didn't bother him to kill the Decepticon warriors as much as he thought it might. A small part of him offered that by destroying these fighters he was lowering the amount of Cons to available to attack the Autobots. A larger part of him simply enjoyed pleasing Shockwave.

Eventually he was taught how to let them live; how to leave them broken to the point where they might die but didn't; how to draw out the pain. He confessed to his captor-teacher that it disturbed him; he much preferred simply allowing them to die a fairly painless death. It was the first time Shockwave had deliberately injured him. (The first of several more, not that Sam could quite remember them.)

Late at night, Shockwave tended to a newly acquired injury, gently chiding him all the while. When the haze finally lifted from his mind, it felt less like discipline and more like whenever his parents would say they were "disappointed" in him.

It hurt.

[_ x._ ]

Shockwave gave him recordings of Autobots in battle. Sam's Autobots. He told Sam to pay _very_ careful attention to any weaknesses he spotted, and work out theoretical strategies of how to defeat them. Part of Sam's newly implanted Spark (the last of Shockwave's procedures, and the most necessary; for his own good, of course) contracted painfully, but he did as told. He felt better when Shockwave murmured an approval after he'd gone to present his strategies.

Days later Sam's Spark curled in on itself at a new suggestion.

"_Would you like to go visit your friends, Samuel?"_

Sam knew. Oh, he _knew_.

"_No."_ He answered, shifting his gaze away even though his teacher's back was to him.

The vaguely familiar haze (he could never quite place why it happened or what it was) brushed his mind for only a second.

"_I apologize Sam, I wasn't paying attention. You were saying?"_

"…_I said…yeah…I'd love to go…"_

[ _fin_. ]

* * *

_: x _

_I have a thing for Stockholm syndrome, I think. D: It's difficult to work with though._

_Anyways, all you ever see on here is "so-and-so is captured and TORTURED!111!" It irritates me. Not the torture, but the lack of motive behind it. :/ It's just…completely pointless torture. I mean c'mon. They're Decepticons; they've got better things to do than giggle over people in pain. They would need to have a reason not to do anything other than just kill and be done with it. So, in the wake of my frustration, I spawn this. _

_There is a high probability that I will do a recovery-based "sequel" for this; as just another chapter, of course. I just have to work out the setup. _

_Also; My non-humor writing seems sub-par to me, so this is more practice than anything. Hopefully everything was relatively clear in this, but some things might not be. Like Sam fighting; he's tiny, so he can reach in gaps and tears up crucial wires and stuff, as opposed to bashing them around. I didn't really describe it because he's not supposed to fully aware of what he's doing, but eh. May have made it stronger or weaker; as the author I'm slightly biased, so I can't tell. Some criticism if you please? C:_

_ttfn_


	2. Reinforce

[ _x._ ]

"_Would you like to go visit your friends, Samuel?"_

[ _interlude; i. _]

It made sense that Bumblebee refused to give anyone a lift; not Mikaela, not Epps, not Lennox, not even Leo when he headed back to Sam's dorm (just to see if there was _any _sign Shockwave had left _something_ behind). It annoyed some of the soldiers, and Optimus may have gotten on to the scout a time or two, but to Lennox it made perfect sense. There was just something inherently _wrong_ with allowing some random human to cozy up in your seats while your own charge was probably being ripped limb from by a D-con at that very moment.

They'd turned the whole planet over looking for the kid. Three months, four days, and six hours Sam had been missing. Yeah, he'd kept track of even the hours. Lennox was sure Bumblebee kept track of the _minutes_. Their only assurance was that every now and again Shockwave's signal popped up for a brief instance; a taunt. A slap in the Autobot's and N.E.S.T.'s face saying: "_Hey, I have your kid. What are you going to do about it?_" Lennox would have given anything for a ransom note even, anything with a simple _picture _ of the kid; just something to say he's still alive, even if he was bleeding out in a cell. Regardless of their efforts though, it was hard to convince the brass to keep the search; especially when the citizens of Earth seemed to think it better if Sam stayed in Decepticon hands.

Egypt hadn't gone unnoticed, and now the whole world knew. The whole world remembered the Fallen's message – _Bring me the boy_ – and the whole world was ready to hand him over. For once governments more or less agreed; better one kid than the whole planet.

N.E.S.T. as a whole had never seemed so thrilled at an alert of Decepticon's wreaking havoc in Siberia; among the six or so D-con signals, the bright white color that was Shockwave burned past all the dull red dots.

[ _ix._ ]

Sam really wished his suit was insulated better. As thoughtful as Shockwave seemed, there were times he seemed to either forget or completely disregarded the fact that Sam was still human. His black color stood out in the snow as well, but that wasn't much of a problem when he retreated to the nearly abandoned city. The readout on his visor notified him that the temperature had just risen another digit as dawn came; negative 32 degrees Celsius. Sam's toes were a bit numb.

_Visit your friends_. Sam sure as anything didn't think he'd ever had any friends here. But there were a lot of things he couldn't remember; this might as well be one of them.

"_Samuel; the Autobots and their human allies are arriving. You will do as I instructed."_

"_Yes sir."_ Sam piped back, climbing a snow bank to the third floor of a building and sliding in through the window. Runabout climbed another across the square, most likely the same building the rest of the cassettes were stationed. _Wait for the signal, knock out the Autobots, and retreat while the bigger cons finish their job with Prime._ He was a displeased; he'd been interested in doing more than blast EMPs at unsuspecting bots. But orders were orders. So he climbed the decaying stairs to the seventh floor, and easily, almost gently, pushed in the door to one of the hotel's rooms. Cheerfully painted walls - though bright, still just faded ghosts of their former glory- were chipped and torn at by the elements; the mood they were once intended to portray a stark contrast to the world around them. Black painted alloy crunched across the glass shards on the floor; Sam supposed he could find a room with the balcony door still intact, but the next available one was beyond a gaping hole in the hallway floor– too wide for him to jump. So instead he edged his way to the shark-mouthed opening, not bothering to avoid the jagged remnants of glass as he leaned against the door frame. Patiently crossing his arms, Dr. Frankenstein's new and improved monster waited to leap.

[ _interlude ii._ ]

The very molecules of his being were almost _vibrating_ in anger and anticipation. Shockwave, spawn of Unicron himself was here; and his poor _Sam_ was here.

"_Do not stray too far, Bumblebee."_ Optimus warned over the comm. link. The Scout simply nodded and continued to mill about the overgrown square. He doubted his leader was actually concerned for his safety; Prime was more afraid of what Bumblebee would do to Shockwave, rather than what Shockwave would do to Bumblebee. He was scout, a highly skilled one, but the base coding he was sparked with remained the same; _protect_. Protect the Cube, protect his cohort – both failed. Protecting secrets as a spy yielded no satisfaction; completely useless to him emotionally, though it benefits his job. Protect, shield, save, comfort, shelter, care for _his charge now_. And even that was almost taken from him too many times. But he wouldn't lose this one; couldn't lose this one. Sam meant…_everything _to the little yellow scout in a universe too fragging big to wander without a brother by his side.

Bumblebee was so lost in his own musings he almost missed the beginning of the fight. A cacophony of cannons, tiny machine guns, and metal limbs clashing shattered the quiet of the Siberian dawn, not that anything besides old ghosts remained in the city to be awakened by it. A flash of black movement near Jolt curiously sent his spark stuttering, but before he could help his own adversary blocked the path.

"Bug." Barricade greeted.

"Robocop." Bumblebee returned shortly, in no mood to deal with this old pest. Barricade raised his cannon to match the scout's.

"I liked it better when you couldn't speak."

"_Bad boys bad boys, watchya gonna do-"_

It only served to make the con laugh and step closer. Bumblebee backed away, now under the distinct impression Barricade wasn't merely engaging him in their typical game of cat and mouse.

"Where is he?" The scout snarled. Barricade hummed lightly, continuing to advance.

"I would fly away if I were you, little bug. Your pet isn't here anymore."

"We've gone through these motions too many times before; I know you're lying."

"Ah, but now I tell the truth." Bumblebee's doorwings brushed concrete and the pit of his cannon glowed against Barricade's shoulder, as Barricade's did his own. "Ladiesman217, Samuel James Witwicky is running about the battlefield as we speak." Bee's spark soared – Sam Sam _Sam!_

"But your little _Sam_," The con leaned forward, scout's cannon now grinding against black armor, "everything he was to you, to Prime, to this useless rock of planet, is _dead_."

[ _viii._ ]

The twins were no trouble at all; he knocked them out almost simultaneously, stunning the orange one before clambering across to the shoulders of the green twin, whom had so graciously moved forward to help his brother and thus provided Sam with a seconds-flat victory worthy of praise. A soft, simple ping on his comm. was all he needed to know that Shockwave had seen, and he had approved.

Still on his victory high he launched his attack against the blue one; Jolt, the electric devil. Or Angel. It depended on which side of the fence you stood, and at the moment Sam was still teetering on the edge, guilt dragging him down on both sides. The blue mech saw him coming and out came the electric whips, snatching him from the air and throwing him to the ground. While the armor negated most of the current for a few seconds, the impact with the ground jarred loose whatever shield it had been using and the last few volts got to him more than he liked to admit. Unwillingly he cried out from pain, and almost immediately the current stopped. The whip yanked him forward before sliding away, back to the blue mech, who suddenly seemed horrified about _something_.

"Sa-!"

Sam was on him before he could finish, both arms rendered incapable of movement and EMP straight to the processor effectively offlining the mech. Blue limbs slacked and collapsed, sinking the Autobot into a bed of ice. Not dead or dying by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly down for the count.

Ducking behind a slab on broken concrete, he scoped out his next victim. The yellow mech, whom seemed to be distracted with mercilessly tearing into Barricade, was closest, therefore it was logical he should be next.

Everything was a blur after that decision. He had lunged, only to be met halfway with a metal palm the size of his chest. Using Sam's momentum the scout then hurled him away, sending Sam skittering through the snow. As the scout charged his cannon Sam remembered only thinking "well slag" before it simply…stopped. The mech, that is. He just stopped, cannon dropping lifelessly to his side, simply _staring_ at him with optics far too bright behind the battle mask.

"Sam?" It wasn't a question so much as whimper; a _plea_. Something in Sam's mind clicked on, then off.

"_Concentrate Samuel."_

Sam used the scout's confusion to his advantage, leaping up to his shoulders only to be caught again, and held this time. He struggled wildly in the one-handed grip, digging at a gap in the mech's wrist and snatching at the wires underneath. The Scout yelped in pain, immobilized hand dropping Sam without its owner's permission. The human clambered up the yellow armored chassis, the color mixed with his own black limbs stirring something in his mind even as he readied himself to attack. He was supposed to kill this one, but he was running out of time; he'd just deliver an EMP like the others. Just as he pressed his palms on either side of the scout's head, fully prepared to send the EMP and be on his way, the yellow battle mask flipped up.

"SAM!"

Sam froze.

_Yellow. Blue. Black. Yellow and black. Like a bee. Bee. Oh, Bee. Bee – Bumblebee. Bee his best friend, his guardian, Bee Bee Bee-_

"_Finish it! Do not make me tell you twice, Samuel!"_

Sam clumsily leaped as far away from the scout as he could, rolling to a stand and stumbling even farther from the outstretched yellow hand.

"Sam," the scout begged, "Sam, please…"

Sam shook his head, not sure if he was saying yes or no or even if it was a question at all.

_Shockwave- pinned him to a table – cut him __**open**__. Stroking his head- "clever boy." Bile in his throat; "I'm not your pet." Bee Bee Bee –"would you like to visit your friends?" He had __**known**__… _A thousand little things clicked on in his mind all at once, the familiar hazy presence scrambling to shut them all down again. He ripped his helmet off, cheeks, nose, ears immediately flushing in response to the cold sting of the air. The scout's mood changed so fast it almost gave him whiplash.

"Sam!" It was joyful this time; wary, but joyful. Sam mouthed the scout's name as well, but a plasma bolt roared past Sam's head, drowning out the plantive sound. It struck the center of his chassis and sent little yellow mech reeling. Bee convulsed, writhing in the snow, little dropplets of Energon melting glaring pink holes where they landed in the expanse of white.

"Bee! No!" Sam tried to run to him, he honestly did; even with the sudden awareness and guilt threatening to choke him. Instead he was captured by a larger, none too gentle hand. Shockwave nearly crushed Sam in his grasp, but the human knew better than to struggle- he just dangled and wheezed. The Autobots were charging now, Ratchet rushing to help Bumblebee while the others let loose a volley of bullets. On an unspoken command Skywarp latched onto the purple Decepticon and ungathered cassettes, pulling them and Sam back to their humble little house of horrors.

[_ ix. _]

Sam yelped, scrambling backwards across the floor, away from Shockwave.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" he whimpered. Nothing he did was right. Taking the abuse without flinching or backing down didn't appease Shockwave as it normally did. Cowering at his feet didn't appease him. Apologies and begging didn't appease him, and for the first time in a long time, Sam was terrified of his master. So he just huddled against the wall of his room and waited while the purple con loomed over head. Seconds passed; then a minute, then three. Tired of drowning in apprehension, Sam finally dared to peer back up into the single optic. Shockwave gazed back.

"_Try to achieve an optimal recharge, and prepare something to entertain yourself during a session tomorrow. It would seem I need to make some necessary modifications."_

The sound of the lock was harsh after having not heard it in a while. Perhaps Shockwave knew that, and was the reason he had not caused the boy any further pain. Regardless, the echo stung more than anything physical had. Defeated, terrified, and guilty, he crawled onto his mattress and burrowed himself in the blankets.

At some point Shockwave had asked him if he remembered who the yellow mech was. Sam told him he didn't, and Shockwave had seemed pleased with at least that.

Sam had lied.

[_ interlude iii._ ]

"It was-zzz Ss-am." The first words out of the glitching volcalizer when he onlined again. "They have done someth-ing-ing to Sam! Di-iid you get-get him? Where-where is he?"

Ratchet was never good with bedside manner, something his patients informed him of often. As it was, he didn't know what to say to the scout, other than order him stop talking (not matter how many time he fixed the slagging part, it always glitched when the scout was stressed). Even if he did know what to tell him, he certainly didn't _want_ to.

As it turned out, he didn't need to. His silence was enough for a smart little Autobot to piece together the events following his drop into stasis. The sudden, obvious ache the scout appeared to feel had nothing to do with the damage Ratchet had patched up to near perfection. Bumblebee started to tremble.

"We shot a trace on to him or one of the others before they warped; we'll be able to find him –" Bumblebee merely shook his head, antennae flattening against his helm and doorwings drooping low against his back.

Ratchet often wondered if it had been a mistake pairing their youngest off with Witwicky. Certainly it did some good, the already happy-go-lucky mech becoming even livelier after being charged with the boy; but it also caused this, and the past few months without Sam had given them a Bumblebee more depressed than they'd ever thought he could be.

[_ x_. ]

"_I'm extremely disappointed with you."_ Sam hadn't read a word of the article he'd planned to go over during the operation.

"_I'm really sorry, sir…"_

"_It will not happen again."_

Sam gulped a nodded, only to be reprimanded for moving. They stayed silent for a good long while, until finally Shockwave stroked a finger across the top of his head. Sam was immensely relieved.

Shockwave still cared.

[ _fin. _]

* * *

_There was actually __more__ I wanted to have in here, but it would have distracted from the main points of this chapter. : / I already feel some things distract, but oh well._

_Lulz, I suck at action scenes and vivid, eloquent, prosy descriptions. :c I'm sorry; I just can't spend nine hours describing a tree.  
_

_The numbers! Just a notice, they're aren't as random as they appear. xD In the beginning I started to count down, to show Shockwave's work was deteriorating, and then after the battle the start to go up again (showing Shockwave's work was gaining control back.) Sorry if you didn't need that explained, but I personally would have. : x If anyone even pays attention to the numbers that is._

_Thank you everyone who is interested, and I hope this has lived up to your expectation so far. More is to come, I promise. ;) I can't promise they'll be as long as this though._

_**Optimus' Girl!**_

_Hey! : ) I would have responded to your review, but you were not logged in to give me that ability. Instead, I have response for you here!:_

http:/ thatuptowngirl. deviantart. com /journal/ 36182879/

_: D Just take out the spaces!_

_Be aware that your opinion that this story should be labeled as __**humor**__ pushed my buttons a little too hard, and I'm a snarky little bitch when I'm mad. c: _


	3. Reiterate

[_ xi._ ]

Sam wanted to see the Autobots again. He remembered them now, and Shockwave and he were on normal terms again, so it might be safe to ask. The mech only rolled out on of his low, chuckling sounds.

"_I pity you Samuel. I was mistaken to call them your friends, after what they have done to you. I do not believe it would be beneficial to see them again in any situation other than our next attack."_

They hadn't done anything to him; nothing his sparring partners wouldn't have, at least. They were _worried_ about him. He at least needed to tell them he was alright. He told Shockwave this too, only earning him another laugh. Shockwave patted the area next to his keyboard and Sam obediently clambered up to it.

"_You do realize they do not care for you, Samuel?"_ Shockwave stroked his back and neck absentmindedly while reading the report on the screen. _"They have not come looking for you have they?"_

Well, he was right in that respect…

"_They do not care about you Samuel….But we do." _

[ _interlude iv._ ]

"_The search for Samuel James Wickticky – I'm sorry, Witwicky, Robot Hostage, is still in full swing. Now that rumors of a sighting of him and his captor are leaking on to internet-"_

Click.

"_For the last time; give. Up. On. This. Kid! Am I the only one who remembers? Are any of you thinking clearly? Let me spell it for you, Mr. G. I. Joe Lennox; the aliens want him dead, and they're gonna blow up the whole planet if he's not. Who gives a shit if he saved the world from these guys twice; __**we**__ didn't know about it then, so why does it matter now! How can we even be sure you're telling us the truth? Let him save the world a third time! He's with the bad guys, and their keeping their promise and leaving us alone-"_

Click.

"_I assure you all that this kidnapping is not the Fallen's doing. The Fallen and the threat he posed this planet have both been terminated, and with them the Decepticon leader Megatron has retreated. We deeply feel the losses you as a race have suffered through these events, and our grief is as heavy as your own. Samuel Witwicky is not to blame-"_

Click.

"_I don't know about you guys, but I saw the video they leaked. Here, I'll play it for you right now actually. See the little black robot there? Yeah, let's speed this up a bi- Look at that right there! He's __**attacking**__ our troops. Fast forward that again- there! Lo and behold, Samuel James-"_

"_Well what choice does he have? The Decepticons would probably kill him if he didn't work with them."_

"_No, no, are you looking at this? He's got an Iron Man suit, jumping around in the snow having a grand old time. Looks to me like he's pretty willing."_

"_With all do respect sir, I think I understand what's going on here. If everyone would remember Patty Hearst's situation in 1974; she was kidnapped, and after two months-"_

"_I really don't see where this going Dr. Jefferson-"_

"_Let me get to it. In 1974 Patty Hearst was kidnapped. After spending two months with her captors, she was coerced into aiding them in a robbery-_

"_You'll also remember that defense failed!"_

"_Sam here has spent over three months, almost four now, with his captor! These aliens are hyper-intelligent, and it's very possible they induced this situation on purpose; meaning Sam is not responsible for this-_

"_Commercial break!"_

Leo flicked off the television, tired of seeing the media rip his missing almost-friend to pieces. Sharsky and Binder tapped rapidly at their keyboards, answering e-mails, verifying or denying content and leads, linking Pro-Sam articles and posting them up as fast as they could. The Real Effing Deal was hopping, and Leo couldn't help but remember when all he craved was success and alien stories. Now he was a leading a campaign to save the alien kid who nearly got him blown up in Egypt. Cheesy graphic of Sam on a milk carton aside, they did everything within their power to keep their content real.

An IM popped up on his screen.

_StingLikeABee: any good leads_

_TheRealEffingLeo: no, sry man._

_StingLikeABee: thanks_

Bee always kept it brief. Ask, leave. It was ironic, to say the least. Everyone was so sure the government was watching their every breath with satellites, and here was the robotic alien super-spy asking a business major college kid cooped up in his dorm if he had any leads.

"_Hey! Hey! Aren't you robot boy's girlfriend?"_

"_Bug off you –BREEP-ing insensitive jerk!"_

"_Wheelie don't- just ignore him. Just ignore them."_

"_Hey, we're talking to her tin can! Mikaela, what's your opinion on this whole ordeal?"_

Leo glared over his monitor at Sharsky, who quickly plugged in his head phones to watch the rest of the poorly made iReport.

He was failing his physics class because of this. Not because of the extra work, but because his study buddy was playing the role of Decepticon chew toy. Call him selfish (or too manly admit his real concern), but Sam needed to get home soon.

[_ xii. _]

Shockwave was slowly letting him move about the lab on his own again, much to his relief. It was unsettling to be so mistrusted by the con.

Sam hadn't thought much of his master's meeting with Soundwave. He'd been too busy tidying up and organizing files. Finally a datapad he couldn't quite figure out where to place hampered his cleaning, and he sought Shockwave's advice. He stopped in the archway to listen in, and see if it was conversation he would be allowed to interrupt.

"_Status of conversion?"_

"_It would prove difficult to ensure he retains all his current properties, were I to convert him. I have taken measures to ensure he would live long enough to see through the process, but in itself it is still too difficult. I am afraid my original plan will not be carried out."_

Sam wondered who they could be talking about.

[_ interlude v. _]

Bumblebee hated being the youngest; everyone tip-toed around him like he was a temperamental sparkling waiting for the perfect opportunity to blow up. Was he not just as competent as they were? Primus, he wasn't _actually_ a youngling anymore, even. He'd reached maturity long before the Autobots had ever set their sights on Earth. He was upset, spark brokenly so, but he knew where his duty lie. He was mature enough handle all of his usual tasks, and go mope about Sam on his own free time. Right now even Sideswipe was taking up a semi-protective stance in front of him while Ironhide was encouraging him to leave over his comm. link. He didn't need them to coddle him; he had handled this war just as well as they had and continued to do as such.

But he _especially_ did not need this sweaty little human fussing at him. The scout wasn't even sure what he had done to set the man off; an inadvertent whine when his last encounter with Sam had been brought up might have been the trigger, come to think of it. A little immature of him, perhaps, but certainly not worth the red faced yelling and finger pointing. The Camaro was not paying attention, to be quite frank, and even Optimus wasn't sure how to handle the situation.

"-would you care to explain to me how that juvenile delinquent is worth more than this planet, then?"

Ah, so that was what this was leading up to; to leave or rescue Sam. He had forgotten their liaison was in favor of handing the boy over. Bumblebee knew he wouldn't be able to control his temper for very long on this topic, so he politely requested permission to be excused from Optimus (further enraging the politician, but in all honesty Bumblebee did not _have_ to listen to him) and left Galloway with one final point.

"If it were you in Sam's position, subject to whatever torture the Decepticons desire to put you through, would you be so noble as to ask to be left behind?"

[ _xiv._ ]

Sam wanted to hang out with the cassettes; they were roughly his size, thus more relatable than the other cons around the lab. The cassettes did _not_ want to hang out with Sam, under any circumstances. Skywarp was never around, Barricade was dead, and "Soundwave" and "sociable" were almost banned from being used in the same sentence. Shockwave was his only company to keep, and even then, Sam didn't want to constantly annoy his instructor and caretaker.

He missed Bee.

So when he was certain Shockwave was in recharge, he snuck down to the control room and tried to send out a message. Just a "Hey, what's up? Wanna chat?" type of message.

Shockwave reached him before he could, and had not been pleased at all.

[_ interlude v. _]

"_Mikaela Banes, the girlfriend of alien hostage Samuel Witwicky, has been reported missing as of yesterday. After her father's body was found in the local lake Saturday night, many authorities have gained a grim outlook on what the young woman's fate might be. Samuel's parents and other close relations have been taken into protective custody for an unannounced length of time-"_

[ _xv._ ]

Sam woke up in a field, surrounded by blood. Pulling off his helmet and armor up to his elbows, he quickly patted himself down to check for breaks in the plating and subsequent injuries. The blood was not his. He rolled over to find the source and his heart and spark both almost stopped beating.

Shockwave had said that, since Sam was lonely, they would fetch his female companion.

It took him a moment to recognize her; not because there was any mutilation to confuse him, but because he had honestly forgotten. That in itself broke him apart more than he could bear. He didn't know what to do. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissed her cheek, her forehead; begged her to wake up and look at him and told he was sorry. He finally gave up and pulled the limp body into his arms. She was dead dead dead, so he just curled around her and sobbed into her cold chest, whimpering her name, willing to trade anything for it not to be true.

"_Oh Samuel. Look what you've done."_ Shockwave crooned almost mournfully.

"_Wha…what?" _Sam hiccupped through tears. _"I didn't- I didn't…"_ Shockwave shushed him, told him it was alright, and moved to pick him up. Sam would have none of that, and clung tighter to Mikaela's body instead, his clean fingers trying to interlace with her bloodied ones. _"I didn't-!"_

"_You did."_ Shockwave snapped, cold and unfeeling now.

Sam shuddered; he knew he couldn't have killed her. He knew what his patterns were, how his work looked, what he was like when he gave into the killer inside him. He would have remembered relishing the fear in her eyes and the solid weight of a knife or gun in his palm. He didn't black out after a kill. And he wouldn't have killed Mikaela. He had _loved_ her. Under no circumstance would he have _ever_ been so consumed with bloodlust that he would steal her from her home, drag her out into a field and kill her. He just wouldn't have. Couldn't have. Didn't.

But Shockwave wouldn't lie to him, right?

"_Your Autobots will certainly hate you now."_

[_ interlude vi._ ]

Wheelie shut down the recording of the events leading up to and following Mikaela's death. He was too small for Shockwave to register, and thus had been able to follow the captor and his victims without being detected. The video resulting was low quality, and more often than not Wheelie's hideout obscured most of the scene, but the point got across.

"Shockwave's done slag like this before! When a neutral he thinks is worth a darn ain't converting, he fiddles with their processor like that." He snapped at the Autobots and their dumbstruck humans. "The kid's gonna believe whatever the slag Shock tells him!"

They hadn't detected the D-con in time; he'd slipped under their radar and brought Sam so close they could have stolen him back. Instead, Shockwave left without a sound, taking three lives (two humans, and Arcee's last unit) and the broken boy with him. Wheelie's Warrior Goddess being one of those, he was now rightfully pissed.

"Why weren't you guys keeping better track of this shit!" He yelled, not caring if he looked like the boy's stupid Mojo as compared to Warrior Goddess' Bones. "And you!" He turned on the yellow scout now, not caring when the larger mech flinched and recoiled. "You thought the blue bike and me stood a chance against this guy? You thought that was protection enough? Why weren't _you_ there! She's your brat's girlfriend after all!"

Bumblebee didn't answer. Nobody did.

[ _xvi._ ]

Shockwave told him it alright because the humans deserved to die.

"_I'm human."_ Sam had snapped, for once getting a temper with his superior. The mech only chuckled tapped the glowing spark casing on his chest.

"_Only partially._"

[ _xvii._ ]

Sam didn't know how many of his sparing partners he ripped open before he was told enough was enough and pulled from the ring.

He'd already finished all his books – old literature he'd hated in high school but, with little else to do otherwise, had learned to love. There was nothing to escape in. There was nothing to relieve him of the guilt. He'd even let a couple of his opponents win, hoping that maybe getting the slag beat out of him would make him feel better.

So Shockwave gave him new material to distract himself; thick research articles of both Cybertronian and human scientist, textbooks, and on occasion a few science or culture based magazines – all slightly out of date. He was not allowed to watch and read the news, or live television, or to use the internet. Anything that wasn't old news had to be directly filtered through the purple con before Sam got the slightest inkling of information.

He found a newspaper sitting on Shockwave's desk one day. It was higher quality print than he remembered; the ink didn't smudge off on his fingers. His name was the headline, so he sat down and read. Not long after, he carefully folded the paper, left it on the desk, and went about his normal business, trying to choke back a new flood of tears.

Shockwave was right. The Autobots hated Sam. The world hated Sam. There wasn't a single person on Earth who wanted Sam.

Except Shockwave.

[ _fin._ ]

* * *

_I figure since this is back on the second page of the search, it's appropriate to update again. Gave other folks their front page time. :x_

_Paha. This is so awkward. I was rocking out to the Burlesque soundtrack in between writing this. Talk about mood swing. I can't help it. It's weird for me to keep something depressing for so long. xD _

_Bit of a technical note I realize I don't address, and won't really be able to either: Sam doesn't __**always**__ wear his armor-suit-thing. It's only when he leaves the base or fights. His lounge-around-the-lab clothes aren't significant or special in anyway, so just leave that to your imagination I guess._

_Also, there is yet another Frankenstein allusion in this chapter, but it's considerably more vague than normal. It has to do with Mikaela; if you can't find it just ask and I'll tell ya. C:_

_Speaking of which, lol, sorry guys. :x I mean...okay, somebody had to die. And it was either gonna be her or Sam's parents. Sam's parents still might kick the bucket. I tried both out, and trying to include Sam's dad on the sob session did horrible things to the flow of that part. Sorry Mikaela. ;-; And sorry Arcee's blue bike. I needed Mik to have someone protecting her, but not really a…significant bot. Don't kill me guys. ;-; _

_/horrible person. _


	4. Reformat

[ _xviii._ ]

Sam saw her, she saw Sam, and in a split second all hell broke loose. By the time Shockwave and Soundwave had pulled there respective minions off of each other, she was shrieking in agony- an awful, metal on metal grating sound with a the high squeal of a some sort of dying animal – and his skin so ripped and torn it made Shockwave, dare he say, _fret_ over his condition. Logically, there was no reason to attack her the way he did; he knew exactly who she was, had been told she would be coming, and was appropriately prepared for her arrival, regardless of not being very thrilled about it. Emotionally, he had every reason in the world.

She shouldn't have been wearing Mikaela's face.

[_ xix._ ]

"I want her gone." Sam snapped as Shockwave tended to his new wounds. "I want her gone, or I'll kill her." He watched the pseudo-needle passing through his skin; focused on it instead of the boiling rage in his chest.

"_She will stay."_ The con's voice held none of the usual softness that was associated with convincing Sam to go along with something. _"She is an integral part of our plans."_

"You'll find her dead in the morning." He'd only muttered it, but received a harsher jab in the side than necessary to pierce the skin.

"_You would kill her like you did your mate?"_

Sam lost it at that, and regretted it soon after. He wheezed under the pressure of Shockwave's hand, a single, irrelevant wire poking up from the con's wrist the only evidence of his attempted attack. A little squeeze and Sam quickly "changed" his mind about Alice's residency at the lab. That matter finally settled, Shockwave went back to stitching up the wounds, as tender and gentle as ever.

"_It would do you well to remember that your life is a privilege that _I_ have given to you."_

Sam ducked his head and nodded, obedient and grateful as ever.

[ _xx._ ]

She wasn't doing a very good job of proving Shockwave's case. Sam had wanted company before, and had gotten far more than he was interested in.

He hated Alice. She had somehow become the pinnacle of his Mikaela related miseries; it made sense to him, what with the way caused beautiful, wonderful Mikaela to doubt his loyalty. It made perfect, bloody sense that he should blame her, in part, for Mikaela's death.

_And she was still wearing her face._

He hated that most of all. She could have chosen any person in the world to imitate and out of them all she chose the one who should have been off limits. He wanted to rip that face off her metal skeletal frame and tear her apart link by link, gear by gear, for even _considering_ its availability after what had happened.

And she knew it too. She smirked at him, winked, twirled her hair, swayed her hips, smiled, laughed, kissed him on the cheek when he wasn't expecting it- all a cleverly devised scheme that so obviously unraveled the every time he looked at her eyes.

At. Not "in to."

She had no spark, no heart; nothing. There was nothing for her eyes to be a window to. Even if on the off chance she had a soul, she was as lifeless without them as he was with both, and that, above all else, she made sure he knew.

[ _xxi._ ]

Alice-with-Mikaela's-face sauntered into his room, flopping down on his mattress next to him and draping herself over his back.

"Hello Samuel, dear." She purred.

"Leave." He snapped back. She grinned and removed herself, but did not do as he requested. Instead the Pretender began to meander around his room, as she often did, inspecting the little bits and pieces of objects he used to decorate and add at least a _little_ personality to his personal space. Sam cleared his throat loudly to remind her of his order. He'd been thrilled to discover that he out ranked her in the chain of command. Alice only laughed.

"Oh don't be so cold." She chimed; her voice was the only part of her that wasn't borrowed from Mikaela. It was the part that kept him sane.

She stalked across the room in a twisted version of some sort of "sexy swagger" and dropped into his lap, not quite pushing the science magazine away, but definitely blocking his view. Sam glared, and Alice only smiled and laughed again, cupping his cheek.

"Don't you think I'm beautiful, Samuel?" The Pretender ran her other hand through his hair, its partner gently patting his cheek.

"Of course you're beautiful." He answered honestly. And she was, if only because Mikaela had been. She smiled and moved in for what he assumed was going to be a kiss. "It's your soul that's hideous."

He thought the violent mixture of red, blue and black on the floor was perfect for the splash of color his room had needed, but Shockwave must have disagreed. One of the cassettes cleaned up the evidence before it could dry.

[ _xxii_. ]

"_I was under the impression you had him under you control."_ For once Soundwave spoke in actual sentences.

"_I did." _Shockwave sounded almost irritated at the accusation. _"And he still is under my control."_

"_Then why are you allowing him to act out? I would prefer to not have to rebuild my Pretender for a second time."_

Shockwave and Soundwave rarely argued; with each other or anyone else. Most just assumed neither had enough emotion to actually _fight_. Apparently though, they were the only beings in the universe who could effectively push each other's buttons.

"_I am not __**allowing**__ him to act out. I have disciplined him more often and more harshly than I have had to before you brought your drone. Perhaps if you complied to my original suggestion of changing its appearance…"_

"_I will not alter my creation's desired appearance for the sake of consoling your human's feeble mind."_

Shockwave _snarled_ at the other and very nearly attacked, grabbing the blue mech by the shoulder and forcing him against the wall.

"_You will __**not**__ directly insult __**my**__ creation. If you have not been properly paying attention, I must inform you that his mind is anything but feeble; I myself have ensured that."_

If it weren't for their acclaimed intelligence and calm, impersonal-personalities, they would have destroyed each other long ago. Luckily for them, they both knew when to back down from a fight. Soundwave made no physical retaliation when Shockwave released him after a final shove, but the debate was far from over.

"_I do not doubt you abilities, but the human mind is, in essence, feeble. It lacks the proper foundation to support higher cognitive abilities that our species is capable of. You cannot build his mind to be any more than what it always has been."_

Shockwave didn't offer a response. Instead he went to frustratedly examine the equipment of the surrounding lab; all of it was designed specifically to research _this_ boy and _this_ theory. And now that he had his answer, with no doubt in his processor that he could be wrong, Shockwave knew he would be met with an issue far greater than what he wanted to deal with at the time.

[ _xxiii._ ]

It was cold here; and dark. Sam couldn't remember what the sun looked like anymore. So he settled with this when he needed to "get out" or "take a breath of fresh air." The light of his chest and dim lamp lit the small, hollowed out area of the ice well enough to see the blue _(he never told Shockwave that it helped him think of the Autobots)_ and white ice compared to the almost black water. For all Alice's worth and skill as a Pretender, she still couldn't swim like he could. None of them could, actually. As far as he was aware the only way they ever left or entered the base was with Skywarp.

When he had felt like being disobedient he'd often entertained the idea of swimming away; his armor provided him with enough air and warmth to make the trip. Unfortunately, the ice had blocked his path, and no matter how much he searched it yielded no glimpse of air or sun. But, it had offered him places like these in return, as if to apologize for its hand in keeping him prisoner. He wasn't a prisoner anymore, but the private retreat was still more than welcome, especially with a moodier than usual Alice biting at his heels.

Sam drew his attention back to object in his hands; a funny little thing he'd noticed attached to his armor. He knew it was foreign, the alloys used were completely different, but due to damage he could not figure out what it was. No doubt Shockwave would take it from him if he were caught trying to fix it, so instead he came here to fiddle with it. Most of its shell was useless, but the wires and microchips and other bits and pieces were in relatively good shape. He finally managed to patch up the last wire and slip it into place, then sat back and set the little thing a bit of a ways in front of him on the ice. He watched, and waited, and watched, and waited, and when finally convinced the device would do nothing, he prepared himself to take the plunge back to the lab.

Sam scooped the object up to take it back, but thought better of it and set it down again, leaving it there to entertain him when he made another visit. Perhaps he'd figure out its significance the next go around. For now, he was hungry, and Shockwave had hinted at the possibility of letting Sam have that last can of chicken noodle soup, even though he hadn't done anything amazing to earn it recently.

[ _interlude vii._ ]

It went unnoticed at first; not out of lack of care but simply not enough time to really study into what it meant. But a little yellow scout noticed after he'd finally gotten the chance to rest on the weekend. He had insisted on having direct access to the channel even though the signal to be broadcasted would most likely never come. He didn't believe it, at first, after all, the transmitter had been broken. But he took it to Ratchet, and to Hound and Red Alert and Optimus, and they'd all debated on it with themselves, the government, and even his own inner demons. But finally,_ finally, _he dared to hope their next expedition would finally bring his boy home.

* * *

_Asdfghjk._

_Guys. _

_Guys._

_I'm sorry. ;A;_

_I really have no legitimate excuses beside the obvious; school, general business, work, etc. _

_I got a little lost in my own mind on this, and had to sort it out for a while. Thanks mucho to miss Ouchimoo for being my lovely sounding board. C:_

_This isn't even long enough to make up for it. How do you guys write ridiculously long chapters? Do you just keep going and going or something? I dunno. Whenever i go long it distracts from the point I'm trying to make. The quality of a story isn't in the word or page count, right? _

_Also. Okay, I'm going to have my lame nerd moment here. Yes, this does have a song I see as describing the mood for the story. Well, a million score tracks really, but only one __**song**__. And I'm only telling you because it's __**gorgeous**__ and you've most likely not heard it, and need to. _

_Bones & Skin, by Mirah_

_There isn't another song in existence that fits this story more perfectly than that one. Everything about it, from the slow and calm pace to the lyrics. And while you may not see it now, it will fit very well with Sam's emotional turmoil I have set up later in the recovery portion. Hopefully; if I pull it off. That in mind, no, I will not be using it __**in**__ the story. D: It has no place actually inside the story. It just describes it. But it does that beautifully. I'll shut up now._

_Ttfn~_


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